


New Year's Surprise

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair decides to celebrate the New Year in downtown Cascade. Of course, things go awry.<br/>Blair is still a grad student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Surprise

_8:00 PM New Year's Eve_

"Jim, have you seen my red gloves? You know, the ones my mom sent me for Christmas?" Blair Sandburg swirled out of his room, one hiking boot on, the other in hand. A thick cable knit sweater dangled from his hand, and Jim Ellison's keen eye could detect at least one gold hoop glinting in the young man's ear. Definitely a social occasion on the horizon.

"Yeah, Sandburg, I know which gloves. They're the ones you've lost three times a day since you opened the gift and got them." The voice may have been stern, but the dark blue eyes twinkled. Jim never had much heart for staying mad at such a bundle of energy. "I think they're still in the truck."

"The truck!" Blair dropped the hiking boot onto the floor and his butt into the closest chair. "I should have thought of that. And I have not lost my new gloves three times a day. What kind of officer of the law are you, exaggerating like that?" He continued to watch his roommate while tying his boot.

"I'm not in court. I know you have a ride to this shindig, Chief, but take your cell. You can call me when you need a ride home. Speaking professionally, driving on New Year's Eve after midnight is a lousy choice."

"Jim, I really appreciate the offer and all, but I know better than to drink and drive, or ride with someone who has. I'm not going to call you in the middle of the night. I'll catch a cab or take a bus."

"Bad idea. Call me."

Blair kept talking as he headed for the door. "Believe it or not, I've successfully rung in the New Year without disaster, all on my own, since I was 16. I'm not going to do anything stupid." He turned and stared at his friend. "You're not working tonight or tomorrow. Why don't you just come with me? We'd have a blast."

Jim snorted. He leaned back and stretched out his legs, fluffing a pillow under his head. "I have a serious date with this couch. I'm gonna have a beer, watch the tube and fall asleep a happy man. Football games are calling my name."

Backtracking across the room, Blair plunked down on the coffee table across from the lounging man. "I'm serious. It'll be fun. There are all kinds of music and food. I'll buy you champagne at midnight - they've opened the lobby of the new Cascade Center for the Performing Arts. We'll toast the New Year in style."

"Sandburg, think about this. I'm a sentinel, and you want me in downtown Cascade with a couple thousand people and five different bands competing with each other. It's a sensory nightmare. I want to relax, not spend my evening staving off overload."

Blair frowned. "I'll stay home then. It's not right that you should be here solo on night meant for celebration."

"No you won't," Jim said firmly. "Go. I'm perfectly happy. I've partied through plenty of New Year's Eves. This is no hardship." He waved Sandburg to the door, and leaned back onto his pillow, content, when the grad student finally relented.

&&&&

_1:00 AM_

"Sorry, guys, I'm going to call it a night. I'm beat." Sara, a TA in history, handed her plastic champagne glass to Blair, smiling in defeat. "I can't dance another step. I'm old. I'm weak. I give."

"I win! I win! I knew Sara would go first." laughed Chris. "Everybody pay up. That's a dollar from each of you, which means I'm rich and I get to order pizza tomorrow. Blair, you'll stay, won't you?"

"Someone's got to take Sara home." Blair waved off Sara's protest. "I've spent the last year with the police, remember? It's not smart, Sara."

"I'll go with her," volunteered Chris. "I'm close, and your place is in the opposite direction."

"You sure, Chris?" Blair queried. "I thought you were going to dance till dawn?"

"Nah. I have to review my course syllabus while I watch football. That was just to bait you and the party-pooper here." He playfully nudged Sara. "You still going to ride the bus, Blair?"

"At one in the morning, I am so not calling Jim. Not if I value my life, even if he did offer. I'm cool with public transport. Great time, you two! See you Monday."

Blair crossed the broad park, still filled with revelers, enjoying the sights and smells. This was one of his favorite parts of downtown, and it had been a great community event. Cascade's major public buildings ringed the plaza. Trees and streetlights still twinkled with the Christmas lights and other holiday decorations. A giant screen at one end had followed the dropping of the ball in Times Square; fun even if it was on tape delay. There would be music for another hour, but the crowd was starting to thin out. 

Jim might have been right about the noise levels, but he wished the older man had come along. If you took time to scratch the surface, buried beneath the reserved exterior was a more relaxed version of Jim Ellison. It was just a matter of coaxing it out. After nearly a year of living with the guy Blair was just beginning to figure that out.

Blair waved absentmindedly to a uniformed officer he recognized. Palmer? Maybe it was Parker? He'd been with Jim on a follow-up and hadn't paid close attention. Guy was close to his own age and seemed pretty laid back. Lousy to be on duty for New Year's. The Cascade PD had maintained a subtle presence during the evening, and Blair had recognized a few. Pulling on his red woolen gloves, he checked his watch in the same motion. He could just catch the last bus and spare the extra money a cab would have cost. The nearest stop was just around the corner and down the street, since most of the closer streets had been closed off for the New Year's Gala.

Tucked into the Metro shelter, he settled in to wait for a few more minutes, stuffing his gloved hands under his arms to warm. The crisp air had been no problem when he was dancing, but now he was starting to feel the cold seeping in. Blair leaned his head back against the clear panels, enjoying the buzz from a few glasses of champagne. His thoughts drifted. The loft and bed sounded excellent right now. Had Jim enjoyed his evening of solitude? Hopefully, he wasn't still up waiting on his errant roommate. Not that Jim Ellison would ever admit that he kept tabs on a crazy grad student. Growling about towels on the floor was definitely more Jim's style. 

 

A metallic crash jerked him back to alertness. Two blocks down, he could see a crowd milling around. At this distance the voices sounded young and male. Correction. Young, male and drunk was more like it. Blair tensed as the crowd grew louder. The last thing he needed was a hassle. Where was that damn bus? He continued to watch as the scene played out with an eerie detachment, as if the action were slowed down and not quite real.

The bus appeared, only to be halted by a small group standing in the street. The driver tried to edge forward slowly. Harmless, but annoying.

The crowd grew. A bottle smashed against the windshield of the bus, followed by another. The driver honked. More clamor.

At the sound of the first shattered plate glass window, Blair was running back toward the plaza, looking for a friendly face from the Cascade PD before things got out of hand.

&&&&

_1:30 AM_

Jim groaned and groped for the phone. It had to be Sandburg. Well, he thought ruefully, I did tell him to call.

"Ellison." He jerked upright. Not Blair, but Banks. "Sir, where are you?"

"Outside the precinct. We have a situation developing, and I need every available man." The noise drowned him out momentarily. "Jim? You there?"

"Yes, sir." Jim was already out of bed, searching for clothes. "Where do you need me, and what's going on?"

"Just get to downtown." Jim could barely distinguish Simon's baritone from the continuing sirens and commotion. "We've got a crowd of thugs raging through the business district that came out of nowhere. I've got to set up a command post somewhere, but the action keeps shifting. Just get here, fast."

"On my way." The connection ended abruptly. As Jim strapped on his weapon, another thought intruded on his haste. _Sandburg. Where was Sandburg?_

&&&&

Jim pulled his truck to a stop behind two squad cars that were blocking the street. His sensitive hearing gave him a pretty clear picture of what was happening. In all his years with the Army and the PD, the one thing he'd never worked was a riot. No wonder Simon sounded a bit panicked. Once you got behind on one of these it was tough to catch up.

A uniformed officer stood and hailed him as he left the truck. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance, and leaned back against the parked vehicle. Jim was shocked to see blood trickling down the young man's cheek. He pitched precariously to the right as Jim reached his side."

Jim grabbed an arm and eased him to the ground. "Whoa. Easy there." The blood was seeping from an awkward dressing on his forehead. Jim picked at the gauze, revealing a deep, ugly gash.

"Took a beer bottle in the head," the young officer volunteered. "Gotta learn to duck."

"How's your vision? Anybody check this out? You're Palmer, right? Burglary investigation a couple of months ago?"

Palmer nodded, wincing at the movement. "Yeah. My first month on the street."

"Why are you here alone? Where's your partner? You should be in the back of an ambulance, or at the hospital."

"Detective, I'm the least of their worries. Of the original group on duty, I'm the only one standing."

"Son, you're not standing."

"Point taken." The young man winced again. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts, you know? I'm supposed to hold the perimeter."

"Right," Jim answered doubtfully. "And how many perimeters do you see? You've got a concussion. I'll put another dressing on that, but you stay down. Sit in the patrol car and use the radio to report, but you're out of the action as of right now, and that's an order."

"I'll just grab some gauze out of the first aid kit - it's on the front seat. They really need you out there more than I do."

Jim grabbed several packages of bandages, tape, and a bottle of water he found on the seat. "Who's in charge?" he asked. "Any idea where they set up command?"

"Your Captain. Captain Burns was on duty, but some jerk smacked him in the head when the first wave of reinforcements came in. I swear, I was here all night and these nuts came out of the ground or something." He paused as Jim stripped off the sodden, bloody bandage. "They tried to set up a command center in front of Performing Arts, but they got overrun. Burns and a bunch of guys were hurt, and they had to regroup. Banks showed up and took charge. Last time I saw anyone, they were trying to figure out how to get riot gear to the off-shift guys that were showing up." He squirmed as Jim fastened another chunk of tape to his forehead. "You gotta get going, Detective. I'm okay."

"You do what I told you. No heroics. You'll get yourself killed. Just report and stay away from the action." He started down the darkened street.

"Detective? Wait up!" Jim turned back. "Man, my head must be worse than I thought. The guy that was with you, the one from the University?"

"Sandburg? You saw Sandburg?" A knot tightened in Jim's stomach. He should have known.

"Yeah. He brought us the first warning. Dragged me away from the mob when I got hit. Tell him I owe him."

"Where is he?"

"Don't know, but I hope you find him. He was trying to help out with the injured, and I saw some guy from the 5th go after him. Must have thought he was with the bad guys." He shook his head. "It was such a mess. I couldn't get anyone to listen."

Jim sprinted into the darkness.

&&&&

_2:00 AM_

"Captain, we're secure from 1st Avenue to 4th Avenue and from Washington south."

"Good job, Brown." Simon stabbed at the map. "We'll take two groups and circle around. Try to close the box and get these idiots locked up. Captain Simms is at the North end of the plaza. Hook up with him before you go."

"Sir, we need to get some men down by the courthouse. If we don't, the crowd will squirt out there and we'll be right back where we started." Jim traced a small area with his finger. He looked up from the map. "H, you didn't see Sandburg down there, did you?

"Sorry, man. I kept an eye out." Brown rummaged in his pocket. "I found these on the way back - aren't these Sandburg's? I thought I recognized them."

Jim stared at the bright woolen gloves. The colorful pattern danced in his brain, and he hastily pulled himself back from flirting with a zone-out. "Where?"

"On a bench, over where they were taking care of the injured officers. One of the EMT's remembered seeing Sandburg."

"Damn. He could be anywhere."

"Maybe he had the sense to get out, Jim." Simon looked up from his work. "He had to know it was risky."

"Right. This is Sandburg we're talking about, Captain." 

Simon nodded glumly. Their observer, if not controllable, was certainly predictable. Unfortunately, Sandburg would have to wait. They had other duties. "Get going, Brown, but radio back if our Observer comes into view." Simon frowned, his attention back on the street grid, looking at the area Jim had indicated. "I could send one of the SWAT teams to hold the corner. I don't have anyone else to spare."

"Send in SWAT and it will get read as a provocative move. Keep SWAT in reserve, Sir, just like you planned."

"Dammit. Am I quelling a riot or running a PR exercise?"

Jim remained silent. Simon could bellow all he wanted, but they both knew the answer. They were stuck with both the riot and the PR.

"Jim, take one man from every group you pass until you have what you need. Be there in five minutes or we'll be too late."

Jim nodded. "Very good, Sir. I'll cut across Adams and Jefferson. We'll set up on the rear entrance to the courthouse. I'd put another group on the next block, if I were you."

"Right." Simon went to work setting up a second group. "Johnson, Olson, Jenson! Get over here." Knowing the wheels were in motion, Jim grabbed a radio and got moving. Almost as an afterthought, Jim picked up the red gloves and tucked them into his coat. If only their owner was equally safe and sheltered.

&&&&

"You're a cop. I saw you with the cops."

Blair backed off as step, holding his hands up in front of him. This guy was huge, as big as Henri was. Big, drunk and more than a little bit mean. The guy's disposition alone was daunting, but Blair was a lot more worried about the length of metal pipe swinging from his hand. 

"Think about it, man? Do I look like I'm a cop? I was here to dance and have a good time, just like you." Another hand went around the pipe. Blair kept talking. "You and me, we've got no problems here."

"Liar!" The pipe whipped Blair's direction. He jumped back, and took off running. Negotiation had its merits, but so did beating a hasty retreat.

&&&&

Jim jogged the first few blocks, grabbing stragglers as he went. They needed a solid presence to make this work. Riot gear was still scarce. He'd had a helmet for awhile, but had given it to another guy that had already taken a rock in the head and was still trying to carry on. 

The amount of damage was staggering. The Cascade PD was going to get crucified for letting the violence get out of hand, as if anyone could have anticipated anything like this. The city-sponsored New Year's Eve Gala had been held for ten years without so much as a broken window. Right now, any business in the downtown core was nothing other than an open-air looters market with some serious violence thrown in for good measure. 

They reached their area in just the nick of time. Extending his hearing, Jim could hear the action heating up. To his surprise, he could actually detect Brown's voice. For an easy -going guy, he must be a terror on this kind of duty. Henri's size alone was a plus for the intimidation factor. Jim deployed his meager resources, desperately wishing for a more substantial presence. If some of the mob hadn't been diverted or rounded up, they could only hope for the best.

&&&&

Blair squeezed himself into the stairwell, hoping to stay out of the fray. The mob, and it was a mob, kept splintering into fragments and heading off into different directions. Every time he chose another escape route, he ran into a worse altercation. Looting and general destruction seemed to be the order of the day.

Another group passed, and he darted down the alley, ducking in behind a dumpster. He crouched down, very conscious of his sore ribs. He could hear Jim now. Another Sandburg-is-a-trouble-magnet masterpiece. Send the kid out dancing and he finds a riot instead.

Not that Jim would quibble with the intentions. He'd been dragging injured officers out of harm's way, one at a time, when some off-duty guy tried to decapitate him with a nightstick and caught him in the ribs instead. A miscommunication of cosmic proportions, and not exactly the setting for a detailed explanation. Now he was dodging both sides hoping to run into someone from the PD who recognized him.

At the end of the alley he saw a puff of smoke. Tear gas, maybe. Well, wouldn't Naomi be proud. Practically a journey down memory lane. Blair's hopes jumped when he heard Henri Brown's shout. It was about time for a friendly face to save the day. 

Staying with his back pressed up against the buildings, he worked his way forward, picking through the debris. More trouble. The PD was mounting a major sweep, but he couldn't get to them without passing through the rioters first. If he tried to hunker down, he'd probably end up in the tear gas. The other direction was looking real promising.

&&&&

The radio crackled to life. Jim could hear it, but paid no attention.

"Ellison! They're on the move."

Jim surveyed his small force. They were here to plug the hole - nothing more. They'd shoved dumpsters to form a near solid wall, trying to reduce the area they had to hold. He'd spread a few others out along the block, including a few perched on a fire escape. 

"Foster? You got the spotlight?" 

"Got it."

"Everybody, hold your positions. Stay quiet until my signal." Jim wished his internal musings were as confident as his voice. This depended on surprise and deception. They didn't have enough manpower to hold back a determined crowd.

A few rioters dashed by the corner, and kept going. Then a few more in a larger group. Jim moved down the line, giving last minute instructions. His hearing gave him more advance warning, and the real onslaught was still coming.

&&&&

Blair skittered down another half block. His ribs were pure agony - he just couldn't keep running, and he couldn't find a place to stay out of the way. He looked through the shattered plate glass windows to his right. SportsWorld, the biggest sporting goods center in Cascade. It sure didn't look like the cheerful place of the commercials right now. He'd avoided the stores for fear of being mistaken as a looter, but his options were dwindling. This was a big place. It had doors that opened out on the next bock. Maybe he could pick his through the darkness, and get out the other side.

&&&&

Jim heard them coming. Too many, way too many running feet and angry voices for this small group handle. The element of surprise, the edge he was counting on was getting razor thin. He didn't have time to pull everyone out. They'd have to stand their ground and hope the sweep got to them quickly with more men.

&&&&

Blair crawled through the pitch-black store, groping his way along display shelves, trying to navigate. He'd been in this place a couple of times with Jim, mostly to replenish his friend's endless stash of white socks. The courthouse was just across the corner. Jim came in here when he needed to kill time before going in to testify. 

Blair tried to picture the last trip for basketball shoes - he'd teased Jim about needing Sentinel vision to see down the canyon of shoeboxes. If he could find it, he could track it back almost to the exit on the other side of the building. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly sure where he was, and Jim certainly wasn't here to pick out a path for him. He crawled across an open space, hoping he was headed in the right direction. He bumped into something in the blind dark, and was rewarded with a sharp smack on the head as an avalanche of - somethings - tumbled onto his head. Oh well, another bruise to go with the repertoire.

His hands traced the fallen objects, trying to clear a path. As recognition dawned, he grinned. Now wasn't this a blast from the past. His hands curled around the smooth surface. This might be a stroke of good fortune after all. He knew where he was, and better yet, he wasn't going to pop out onto the street empty handed. 

&&&&

"Foster! Hit the light!"

Their lone spotlight blazed, blinding their opponents at the end of the alley. They fell back momentarily, stumbling back into the main street. The small group of PD personnel, Jim included, began yelling, banging...anything short of gunfire to convince the rioters that coming this way was a bad idea. If they could keep them out, the two pincers of the main sweep could finish the job.

It was working. Against all odds, it was working. Jim allowed himself a brief moment of hope. It worked, at least, until the first or the second brick sent Foster crashing to the pavement, shattering the spotlight.

Jim spared a moment of worry for his men, their vulnerability exposed. His fingers tightened around the nightstick at his belt. Just a reflex; he had no intention of pulling it.

The crowd turned and barreled down the alley. Jim stepped to the side, trying to shield Foster as the stunned officer struggled to his feet. The first rush was nearly on top of them.

&&&&

"Go! Go, go, go! We're losing them!" Henri Brown shouted at his contingent, urging their pace along. Ellison had to be on the next block, Rafe on one of the ones after that. Those men couldn't be left alone without reinforcements from the sweep. Grateful for his riot helmet and face shield, Brown ducked another rock. He watched, horrified, as another large group dashed down the street. He put a classic football block on a couple troublemakers that were in his way, hoping that someone else would get a clue and follow suit.

&&&&

It should have been so simple. Stand shoulder to shoulder, respond with minimum with force only when necessary. Discipline, restraint. Control, and then direct, the situation. That was the book they all trained by.

Jim Ellison looked into the eyes of the surging crowd and knew they would lose. This was unchecked violence. This bunch didn't want to run, they wanted to brawl. Hocum reeled back, unable to hold his riot shield, one of the two they had, against the crush. Two others were pinned immediately against the pavement, taking a horrible beating. Jim sprang forward as Foster, already unsteady on his feet, was slashed across the face with a broken bottle. Jim tried to catch him and fend off another attack at the same time, but it took him out of his defensive position. A blow between his shoulders forced him down, and into oblivion. 

&&&&

One look at the pitched battle in front of him and Henri Brown knew. Too late. We're too damn late. At the far end of the street, wedged up against a hastily erected barricade, the plug had held, but barely. In the no-mans land in front, rioters were taking the Cascade PD to pieces. "Officer Down!" bellowed Henri. They waded in, overwhelming and dragging off thugs one by one. Henri was sickened as he saw the injuries some of his brothers in blue had endured holding this stupid strip of asphalt.

The worst of the melee was about midway. At least one guy was still standing; swinging away with something Henri couldn't quite identify. In the shadows, Brown couldn't make out a face. Apparently, he was one of the lucky ones with gear, although it didn't look like standard issue. Mystery Man was straddling at least two downed cops, going toe to toe with some Goliath swinging a pipe. Shit! The guy with the pipe made a direct hit. Henri frantically plowed forward, hoping to lend a hand.

Mystery Man was holding his own, but it couldn't last.

Three cops and a nightstick later, they had their pipe-wielding giant on the ground in handcuffs. Henri clambered to his feet and looked...down. Who on the force was this short? Or was this...uh, lumpy?

"H! Good to see, you man. Can you give me a hand? I need to get Jim out of here."

"Hairboy? Is that you?" Of the dozens of questions Henri Brown wanted to blurt out, at that moment, the only one he could manage was, "What in the name of God are you wearing?"

&&&&

Jim's head hurt. His head, his back, maybe everything except his big toe. He groaned. Immediately, a gentle hand settled over his face, covering his eyes.

"Take it easy, Jim. You've been out for awhile, and the lights are pretty bright."

"Sandburg?" Jim managed to mumble. "You ...okay?" He groped out with his hand, only to have it clasped in a firm hand.

"Jim, I won't bother you with how ironic that is. Please note that I'm not the one lying on his backside wondering what day it is. Of course I'm okay. You're at the aide station. The EMT's have checked you over, but they've transported the worst cases first. You have to wait your turn."

"Want to see you."

"Fine, but take it slow."

Jim felt the hand on his brow raise, just a little. He opened his eyes and blinked. Even under the protective shadow of Sandburg's hand, the light was too much.

"Dial down," he heard Blair whisper. "You might be kind of shaky in the senses department."

"I'm okay." Jim struggled up on one elbow. Sandburg's face looked to good to be true, and then he frowned. "What are you wearing?" Blair just grinned.

"Ellison! You're back." Henri Brown, smiling broadly, knelt down by his side opposite Blair. "How do you like the new Cascade PD riot gear? Hairboy's going to give a seminar."

"I must be hallucinating. Sandburg, why are you wearing hockey gear?"

"Don't be stupid, Jim. I'm wearing hockey gear so I could save your butt without getting killed." Jim could only stare as Blair's blue eyes disappeared behind a goalie's mask. "It worked great."

"You would have been proud of your partner, Ellison. Sandburg is the first member of the Cascade PD to subdue a perpetrator with a hockey stick. Captain may give him an award if he stops laughing long enough," chortled Henri. "He has a great swing, by the way. You gotta see it to believe it."

"I see it and I don't believe it," muttered Jim, letting some self-righteous anger seep into his voice. "What do you know about hockey, and what were you doing out there in the first place?"

"One year when we lived on the East Coast, Naomi dated a semi-pro hockey player. I learned from the best. He was a goalie." Blair looked up and nodded to someone out of Jim's vision. "Uh, your ride's here, so why don't I save that story for another time. If you tell me where you left the truck, I'll meet you at the hospital." Blair reached gently into Jim's coat, looking for the truck keys. His eyes lit up.

"My gloves! Where did you find my gloves?"

Jim just leaned back, smiling. Crazy hair, crazy ideas, red gloves and all, if Blair was okay, he was okay.


End file.
